'Man is an immortal spiritual being'

Today I was walking into town to buy some fudge when a large figure loomed into view. His chunky hands grasped a clipboard as he made eye contact and approached. The last encounter I had with one of these people culminated in the charity worker overflowing with happiness and spontaneously hugging me, so I thought I'd spare a moment. My assumption that he was a charity worker turned out to me wrong.

'I'm doing a survey', he bugun, before asking me 4 questions; my least favourite characteristic about myself, my ideal job, my most desired state of life and the most important of the previous three. My suspicions begun to rise as these questions were rather probing and personal. He then asked me if I had an interest in the human mind and self-improvement, my fascination of mentality and the human brain got the better of me as I offered an interested 'yes'.

Now I was trapped, he invited me to take a look at a book, upon my agreement he invited me to then follow him. This, as a student not looking to spend pointless money, was not going to be anything I was interested in, but I had to follow now. He lead me up two flights of stairs to a small room, already with a women who'd trapped a couple of other unsuspecting fools. I now had no idea what was going to happen to me, my overactive mind rolled out the possibility of this being a ruse to mug or kidnap me, but alas, the reality was rather more mundane...

He sat me down infront of a machine that looked like a lie detector, but this contraption was, unfortunately, never address or used during my stay. I was handed a piece of card - the blurb of the infamous book - obviously, I was not trusted to hold the precious book itself. This book was entitled 'Dianetics: The Modern Science of Mental Health', a fairly standard name for a piece of mental health literature - other than the blatently made up word of 'Dianectics', of course.

http://www.bridgepub.com/sites/default/files/imagecache/gcui_product_feature//sites/all/themes/gold_master/product_images/en/dianetics-modern-science-of-mental-health-hardcover.jpg

After a few minutes of discussing the subconscious and its effect on human activity he brought up the elephant in the room. This spiel was all leading up to the crux of the matter; the man I was speaking to was a Scientologist. He broke this to me by asking 'what do you know about Scientology?', I couldn't help my allow a wry smile cross my face at the mention of the 'religion'.

My pitiful knowledge of the topic extended as far as Tom Cruise and other Hollywood celebrities partaking in it, I could not tell him more as I knew no more. So he filled the gaps.

Scientology was developed by a man called L. Ron Hubbard, graduate of George Washington University (they must be proud) and, supposedly, applies science to the idea of religion and spirituality. My friend, whose name was Paul, told me that there is large amounts of scientific data telling him that spirituality and scientology addresses the facts of life and is the correct path. I quickly asserted my certainty of copious amounts of data pointing to the lack of spirituality and poppycock that is Scientology. Here is a picture of the great man. I'm not sure I'd like a religion masterminded by someone who looks like a Bond villain.

http://snarkfood.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/08/l-ron-hubbard-3.jpg

I have spend the past hour or so looking into this further on their website - http://www.scientology.org/- and I have learnt a little more on the subject. So I now feel far more entitled to attack the rambling of the madman that these people idolise.

I avoided using wikipedia, as people can write their opinions and present them as fact, so I have only referred to the scientology website itself. So I can only assume that every thing I've read there is exactly as these people believe.

First of all, they address the concept of who you are, they have decided to name this 'Thetan' and try to validify this by using a greek letter to represent this; Theta - 'which has long served as a symbol for thought or spirit'. In this section I was told that I could not possibly be my body as 'if you have your appendix removed, does your personality change? Are you any less you? Of course not'. The body is seen as merely a case in which Thetan moves about and resides in. The imagination of an impossible entity that is inherently you, rather than the physical, touchable and very real reality of the human form, is utterly laughable - but this idea is held by most religions, so this seems to be more an attack on spirituality - I'll address Scientology itself now.

The next video I was instructed to watch told me of the '8 Dynamics' - 8 parts of life that one should aim to survive and pass through on the path to enlightenment. I was informed towards the end of the video that Scientoloy has 'workable technology for you to increase your survival across all Dynamics.' How fortunate that they might have developed the perfect technology to aid you in your quest to address every part of live.

http://www.whatisscientology.org/html/Part02/Chp04/img/pg0152_1.jpg

Next, the website described the 'Emotional Tone Scale'; a generic booklet - that Paul tried to flog to me for £3 - that outlines all the different types of people in the world, the way they react to situations and the possibility to predict how they will behave in the future. It, apparently, takes 'the mystery out of human behaviour'. So, it seems, Scientologists fail to recognise the complex web of the human mind - the impossibly convoluted thoughts and actions of humans thanks to every person they've met, experience they've had, or thought they've conceptualised. It generalises its followers, as well as non-believers, and claims to predict the actions that anyone will take.

Another video I watched had the 'lie-detector' I mentioned previously. This exciting machine turns out to be an 'E-Meter'. I presume it works exactly as a lie-detector does, monitoring electrical impulses, sweat glands, temperature, etc. But in this instance, it is used by an 'Auditor' to help you find your memories and blunder your way from spiritual blindness to spiritual enlightenment. The auditor, I was told, does not give any information, all he is required to do is listen and use this machine, but he does needs 'years of training' in order to complete this very complex and important task of sitting and not repsonding.

http://anonymousradioshow.files.wordpress.com/2009/11/scientology_e_meter_blue.jpg

One other video presented to me told me that without love for every single other human on the planet 'there is only sorrow, hatred and despair'. How very mellodramatic, but I have a particualr hatred for certain individuals in this world, and I've managed to escape a world made up of solely sorrow hatred and despair. I must be some kind of superhero or meta-being. How can a mere mortal be happy when he dislikes something that is purely abhorrent? Who knows? Not me, that's for sure.

The overall feeling I get from this belief is that one cannot live one's life alone. It's necessary for us to have Scientology to be constantly probing into our actions and telling us how to react to other people and how to act as a result of other people. I found it deeply patronising to think that these people believe that I need to subscribe to their gibberish in order to act properly around others and to sustain relationships properly.

This has been another fairly lengthy and potentially boring blog. I hope it's been interesting enough for you, and hopefully I'll find something a little more whimsical to talk about soon.

The Drake Equation

A few weeks ago I coincidently watched two programmes featuring an equation dreamed up by an American Astronomer - Frank Drake. This equation supposedly calculates the liklihood of intelligent extra terrestrial life in the Milky Way with which communication might be possible from Earth.

The first programme I watched was fiction, and so I passed it off as a leap of imagination and let it lie. Then a few days later it reappeared in a BBC4 programme entitled 'The Seach for Life: The Drake Equation'. In this documentary the Drake Equation was taken apart and explained in its constituent parts. Here my suspicions and issues with it grew as the leaps of faith allowed by fiction was seemingly being entertained by the scientific community.

Before I delve into this 'revolutionary' equation, I feel I must introduce it properly;

(stolen from Wikipedia)

The full equation is explained properly here, and I shan't waste time here going into it.


This equation I have no problem with, it seems to fulfil all sensible areas of calculation in order to estimate the liklihood of little green men.

In this BBC production, Drake inputs various numbers into his infamous equation to create the all-important estimate. I'm sure anyone ignorant of this knowloedge previously is fairly interested to hear the prediction. It is 10.

Ten instances in our galaxy that would likely have developed intelligent enough life to create the desire to communicate with other beings. Again, I shan't delve into complicating issues such as of dying civilisations, changing technology or sheer bad luck, as it is the arrogance with which Drake ploughs on with his prediction that I take offence to.

The first two numbers input by Drake are perfectly acceptable (despite the recent, more accurate estimates, but for the purpose of argument, they are innocuous enough) - 10 stars formed per year and half of these stars will be orbited by planets. Unfortunately it is here that his equations seems to begin to leap into the abyss of guesswork.

http://www.spacetelescope.org/images/heic0411a/

Next comes potential development of life on the planets formed. In each solar system he predicts that 2 planets will be capable of this feat. He based this guess on our solar system, which - as far as we currently know for sure - only houses one planet with life one - and so, suggestably, only one capable of nuturing life. This leads onto the next part - actual development of life. Here, Drake predicted a 100% sucess rate. How on Earth (and the other life-sustaining planet in this solar system) does this one work? We have proof for one instance of life in the entire universe, and this is planet Earth. How can he predict 2 planets having the correct atmosphere to house life when the practise of modern astronomy is still uncertain of life orbiting our Sun?

So we now have life on 2 planets in this hypothetical solar system. Supposedly 1% of this will evolve to be intelligent! Of the billions of species of life on Earth, only one has managed to evolve to fit the criteria of 'intelligent', yet the bold Drake chose to go with his one-in-a-hundred theory.

The final input I take issue with is the ability to communicate - the penultimate number. Again, 1% is utilised. Again, Drake has ignored the one study of life in the universe we have. He predicts that 1% of the intelligent life evolved will develop the ability to communicate with other planets when the evidence we hold tells us that the one instance of intelligent life has developed the ability and desire to communicate.

http://www.jpl.nasa.gov/news/profiles.cfm?profile=560

The equation has since been readjusted by other scholars and new predictions have been created. But there is a distinct lack of impirical evidence - as can be expected with this line of exploration - to go along with the painfully arrogant guesses that Drake originally made.

I utterly believe that there is life out there, somewhere in the vastness of the universe, so please do not take this ranting piece as an attack on the search of extra terrestrial life - although I am not entirely decided on the safety of communication and contact with alien beings, despite the fascination behind it.

This blog's been a bit of a change of topic from the usual, so I hope it's not been too boring to trawl through. It's current 3am and I have a lecture to be attending in 6 hours time, so it's good to see me putting my nighttime to good use.

My Million-Making Script

Last week my seminar group was set the task of writing some dialogue.

It was only after I'd written it that I realise melodrama wasn't allowed, but I had to persist with this script. I thought I'd share it with you.

 

I realise that a lot of the tension and drama comes out best when performed, as Antony and I did faultlessly on the day.

This blog is mainly picture-based and rather short, so I'll introduce you to a friend of mine - Alfie. He was given to me a couple of weeks ago for my birthmoment and has become an integral part of my life and studies since.

Shopping. What a terrifying experience.

This weekend I did something that I very rarely do - I shopped. And I did a bloody good job of it too, I got a pair of shoes and 3 shirts - maybe not a big achievement for most people, but there is something inherently wrong with my relationship with shopping.

I can only put it down to childhood experiences; in my youth I would be dragged round Hastings, clothes shopping with my mother, and here my stubbornness forced me to stand outside New Look for the duration of her venture inside - I would refuse to cross the threshold, as if I was cursed to never enter a New Look (this curse has not held, as I made the trip inside one this weekend).

Another huge leap I made this weekend was to venture shopping alone - sort of. As my girlfriend was trying on a dress I skulked at the entrance to the changing rooms, pretending to text and trying to while away the time. She then asked me to find her a smaller size, with fear in my heart I stuttered but felt strong enough to attempt this. I left and boarded the escalator, gliding down to the ladies section. My eyes darted around, the pop music and bright colours scaring me like a guinea pig trapped in a corner by a group of menacing adolescents. As I reached the ground I realised the scale of my challenge - I now had to remember where this dress came from, find it and find the correct size. Something I have never had to do - I usually buy the wrong sized clothes for myself as I feel it's too much effort and embarrassment flicking through a couple of items in order to find something that fits. So embarking on finding clothes for someone else was terrifying for such a novice as myself.

I managed to locate the dress amongst the brawl of H&M and set to returning to the changing room, but I still had the chamber guard to negotiate. I had no idea how to address this situation - here was a boy (or man, as some might tentatively describe me now) holding a dress, queuing for the changing rooms. Anxiety bubbled inside me as the shoppers in front slowly dispersed into changing rooms. The strangely dressed guard (like this chap) with his ankle swingers, no socks and boat shoes (why is that considered a good look, anyway?) then looked at me, as I managed to mutter "it's for my girlfriend... is that OK?" - he nonchalantly nodded and I entered.

Phew. That was that melodrama over. I went back to my slumped position against the entrance.

After all this manic shopping I was granted the joy of popped to Asda where I found myself more comfortable - although still infinitely more awkward than is considered acceptable - where I found myself a far more attractive offer than paying over £50 for one pair of shoes.

 

So I scampered home and ate them infront of Spaced - which I fully recommend people watch on 4od.

Well that was my Sunday. I hope you had a good one.

Charity Work

I spent yesterday doing some charity work - it's just what I do, I'm a good guy, I love helping out where I can. I was accompanied in my effort by the lovely and untiring Becki and Victoria. Harvey was also there.

It was at the Regent Centre in Christchurch that my diligent toil took place, and quickly I found this was an odd place; run by swathes of the elderly and one younger, tubby man with a good few inches of beard dropping from his chin. With him, I put a couple of desk backstage - manual labour, I'll do anything for charity - where he decided the best course of action would be to tell me 'people like putting things on desks'. I was rather taken aback by this revelation and his distracted demeanour so I quickly left to pursue another, less creepy, line of work.

As the matinée audience shuffled in - and this really was a shuffle, it was the largest group of the O.A.P.s I had ever seen - I grabbed a bucket and set to collecting some change for Help for Heroes, but only after learning that to shake a bucket whilst collecting is an illegal offence, so I embarked on a silent collection.

Here, the differences in people become painfully obvious; the generous return your eye contact and smile and begin an arduous journey towards you, every step seeming to knock the breath from them, but they persevere and when they get to me they gave anything from £1 to £20.

Then you had the people who had already given but were desperate to come across as generous, so they'd approach you and tell you what they'd done, be it giving montly or just to another bucketeer. To these people I wasn't sure what to say, 'well done'?, 'thank you'? I just went with a laugh and hoped they'd leave. It usually worked.

But it didn't for one chap. I was standing there with my bucket, trying to attract some interest for my cause when a mysterious hand grasped my arm. I looked to see the owner of said hand and a face was thrust very close to mine as he thought to tell me, in his American drone, some of his own charity work. He'd set up a website that has raised £900 for Help for Heroes last year and he seemed rather irate about the fact that our 'heroes' are in the Middle East. So he began a rant about their presence there, as if I had ordered the warrant to ship out thousands of troops. Again, I had no idea what to say. Should I have induldged him in conspiracies of oil-greed, or religion-control and New World Order nonsense, or should I have thank him profusely for his effort and bid him a good day? Probably. But all I managed to give him in return was a vague 'yeeaah'. After this the harassment ended and I went back to smiling at the elderly.

The final group are the (typically younger - so in this case middle aged) people who feel that simply buying the ticket and coming is showing enough support. Which, in a way, it is, but these people look at you with such scorn that it's hard to trust your own motives. They would deviate their paths completely to avoid me, or they'd walk past with their heads down and pausing their conversations. I shall not berate this catagory too much, as I fear I may well fall into it. That's right, despite being such a generous giver of my time I am usually too embarrassed when fellow bucketeers approach me to give anything. So I would typically adopt many of the techniques observed yesterday.


After the matinée performance came the evening performance (oddly) and the now-largest group of O.A.P.s I've ever seen. It was truely daunting see that many grey-haired old dears haul themselves inside. Up until that day, I had never really understood the necessity of hand rails on stairs. So many of these slowly decaying people had to grip onto the structure as if it was an integral part of their being and embark on the expedition up the arduous 6 steps. One lady I found particulalry strange; physically, she didn't seem impaired or tired by this exertion, but she would only do 2 or 3 steps at a time, she reaches the final step and just stood for several seconds. Gazing forward as if a queue has materialised before her, but the path was clear. Then, after an uncomfortably long time, she took that final step up and continued walking on the flat without a problem.


Part of me relishes the day when I can do things like this and not feel it to be even slightly antisocial, but until then I will enjoy the relative bliss of fully functioning limbs.

Apologies for the awful picture - my phone doesn't much like taking pictures in the dark.

 
With regards to to show itself, it was brilliant. A full swing band, complete with 4 trumpuppeteers, 3 tromboners and 3 saxophonists, really gave of a brilliant sound.  I was never a big fan of big bands, but I feel I may have been converted. So thanks to John Mac for doing the night and 'Swing Unlimited Big Band' for impressing me so much.


This blog's been quite a long one, so I'll think I'll end it there.


In other news, I just realised I was writing with this pen...

Sleeping's Massively Overrated Anyway...

For some peculiar reason, in recent weeks there has been a fire alarm bonanza in Cranborne. Any time of day or night seems fine, but it's becoming inevitable that we'll have to evacuate our home at least once a week or - as it was a few weeks ago - five times in four days.

The increasing dullness and frustration that each fire alarm brings, I feel, cannot be healthy - the howling sound that once cut through me, alerting me to the possibility of a life-threatening danger, has become a screech that batters my ears and fails to excite any adrenaline in me whatsoever.

One early morning this spiteful little alarm didn't even manage to stir me from my bed - I awoke in the morning with a vague memory of something happening - my subconscious seemingly made the decision for me to simply ignore the so-called warning, and my innocent being was left in the firing line for danger.

This brings me nicely onto my next, and main, point. I would like to extend a plea to anyone and everyone who might set off a fire alarm to cease. Not only because my usual sleeping patterns are being monstrously disrupted, but also because my future safety is being throw into harm's way. If, at any point in my life, I am damaged by fire I will have no choice but to blame every one of the cretins who has set off an alarm in my current home.

I feel I cannot merely send out this plea selfishly, although that is the main reason I'm doing this, as we usually have at least two fire engine attending the little ceremony in the car park. It is not uncommon for four of these machines to turn up, loaded with firemen ready to save us - although from the look of most of them, getting up to my 7th floor flat, bursting through an inferno, locked doors and all manner of danger, finding me and transporting safely back down the 112 stairs to terra firma would be out of the question. They seem far more content sitting uselessly in their fire engine as the imaginary fire tears through Cranborne and its residents are all safely downstairs already.

Regardless of firemen's beer bellies and my imminent burning to death, I would like nothing more than for these alarms to stop. I need my sleep!

Good day

The Kindness of Drunken Strangers

I rushed from my girlfriend's flat after discovering the sorry state of Southern Rail's trains, stopping only to pick up a couple of chocolate bars to sustain myself on the impending journey.

After 2 replacement buses, and a train, I found myself on my second train of the day - but not my last  - from Littlehampton to Southampton when I was joined by a couple of unlikely companions who quickly introduced themselves as Peter and Julie as the sat at the table opposite me, might I add at this point that they were heavily under the influence of alcohol.

Reaching into a Co-op bag, Peter pulled out a bottle of own brand Cava and poured into a couple of mismatched glasses. Classy, I thought. He went on to offer me a drink from the smaller of the two wine glasses, I politely declined, he insisted, I was obliged to accept. I sipped from the glass and he vigorously refilled, keen to keep his new friend happy.

I noted that the liquid offered to me was a distinctly different hue from the one consumed by the jolly couple opposite me, but I sipped away regardless. My middle class upbringing knows better than to question anything suspicious, especially if it might cause offence to anyone, no mater how much I may suspect a situation.

Their conversation took them off into their own world, I snatched snippets from eavesdropping, guessing that Julie had gone through a bereavement, Peter had helped her through. What a fine gent he was turning out to be.

Out of their world they came, enquiring as to my reason for travel; was it to see a special person? Julie ventured. No, came my reply, I had just left a special person - I was travelling back home. Peter quickly insinuated that I was a homosexual, asking who he was, I met this assumptions with scorn, but emitted a polite laugh and put him right, he seemed unfazed. Perhaps he was not such a stand-up chap...

From what I gathered, Julie worked in a Post Office, she was adamant on the fact she 'worked with people, with the public'. I fear she was an underachiever, slightly ashamed of her position, but I looked upon her favourably, she was a friendly character.

The questionable Peter left his occupation unknown, not wishing to divulge me any information, he joked his job was not in medicine, but this fact I assumed quickly anyway.

The two seemed happen in each other's company, occasionally turning to me for an outlet of conversation, but quickly returning to the other's face for attention. Soon we reached their stop and I bid them cheers and goodnight as Peter, once again, refilled my glass. A brief wave sufficed as a 'goodbye forever' as the train pulled away, and our excursion together was over.

I went on my merry way to another 90 minutes of travel, before finally finding my bed at midnight. Not before seeing what has to be the largest orange skin I have ever seen. My foot is used here for perspective. Please note, none of this mess is mine, I was merely a spectator of this squalor.